By Rebecca T. Dickinson
It’s been a year or more
since we colored ourselves
on sidewalks,
a parking lot
and my heart.
You spilled
red wine
before the rain,
and I took
another sip.
You didn’t tell me
there was her,
but you knew there is him.
You brought chalk,
black,
garnet
and white sheets.
Run white fingers
through my hair.
I close my eyes.
Yellows,
whites
and May.
Then you spill
beer,
vodka
and tequila.
You whistle and draw
as I try to recall
a time or myth
when you loved me at all.
© 2007 by Rebecca T. Dickinson. All Rights Reserved
Published by Corrie's Mom
They say teacher turn over is high right now, and many teachers will leave the profession in five years or less. I will enter my seventh year as a full-time teacher, and my 12th year in education after I'd started as a sub and teacher assistant. I was the student in the 1990s you did not want in your classroom because I was diagnosed with ADHD and did not know how to socialize with other kids. I was due to be tested for autism, but this was considered an ostracizing experience for a child then, especially a girl. I am a third generation teacher and author of seventeen creative works.
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If words could speak about feelings and feelings past…loved it!
Thank you very much! I’m usually hesistant nowadays to share my poetry because it is so personal. Thank you for your comment!
Those last four lines gave me a shiver which I can still feel while typing this. I love this.
Thank you very much! I’m glad you liked it, and thanks for your comment!